


The Touch of Charcoal

by arthistorylesbian



Category: I Medici | Medici: Masters of Florence (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:49:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 581
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25724641
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arthistorylesbian/pseuds/arthistorylesbian
Summary: When had Giuliano first moved in Sandro’s mind from wealthy patron he needed to impress to friend who he could relax with? And now looking at Giuliano’s bare torso, he was starting to feel something else. Perhaps something less professional than he might have liked.Sandro begins to question his suppressed feelings for his close friend, Guiliano, as he works on the preparatory drawing for Mars and Venus.
Relationships: Sandro Botticelli/Giuliano de' Medici
Comments: 2
Kudos: 16





	The Touch of Charcoal

**Author's Note:**

> Hello! I have been a voracious reader on AO3 for years now, but this is my first ever fanfic! Just a little something mostly written for me, but hopefully someone else enjoys these Renaissance bbs as much as me :)

Sandro wasn’t sure when Giuliano had turned into something else to him. When had he first moved in Sandro’s mind from wealthy patron he needed to impress to friend who he could relax with? And now looking at Giuliano’s bare torso, he was starting to feel something else. Perhaps something less professional than he might have liked.

Sandro tore his eyes away from the soft but defined planes of Giuliano’s torso and forced himself to focus on Simonetta. Simonetta, of course, was the beauty of Florence and as an artist, Sandro was captivated by her. Her large gentle eyes, flowing golden locks, and petite features gave her a nymph-like quality that was so ethereal, Sandro often had to remind himself that she was real human and not just a hopeful figment of his imagination. Yes, Simonetta was a perfect beauty, a God-given beauty, but why couldn’t Sandro tear his eyes away from his friend?

It wasn’t that Sandro had never seen the nude body; he was an artist after all. His training with Fra Filippo Lippi had included some studies of anatomy (although he had never shared the same passion for studying cadavers as some of his artist acquaintances) and Sandro’s love of antiquity had led him on a journey to study the works of the ancients. It wasn’t even Sandro’s first time seeing Giuliano’s body, what with the youthful dips in the Arno after nights of wine-soaked debauchery. So why then did Sandro fail to keep a professional distance?

His mouth dry and his eyes wandering, Sandro outlines Giuliano’s body from afar, imagining his charcoal had been replaced by his fingers. He starts at his head, grazing Giuliano’s broad nose and parted lips as he exhales and his breath ghosts over Sandro’s imaginary fingers. He moves his charcoal down his prepared panel to Giuliano’s exposed chest, feeling the smooth warm planes and how they would give into the pressure of his fingertips, creating soft divots and fleeting patterns on his skin. Sandro of course appreciated sculpture, but had always relished the liveliness of pigment, the way that the correct combination of colors could create a body that was soft, voluminous, with life thrumming under its surface. He contemplated which pigments he would blend to give Giuliano’s body the warmth he felt in it. As his charcoal moved down ever lower to reach the edges of the white cloth carefully concealing Giuliano’s nakedness, the sense of touching his body increased rather than decreased. He could feel Giuliano’s body underneath the texture of the fabric. Sandro imagined how it would feel to touch him through the cloth, how the friction would cause Giuliano’s body to respond. As he imagined the heat from Giuliano, Sandro felt the same heat stirring within himself. Sandro continued to draw, caressing the strong thighs that escape the cloth, sensing the way that the hard, unyielding wood of the table might shape his soft flesh where it pressed against the table.

As Sandro’s charcoal completed the outline of the planes of Giuliano’s body upon the wooden panel, Sandro’s imaginary hand gave a final tender caress of Giuliano’s gossamer hair and square jaw before retracting to his body and returning to its role as the hand as artist, not a pining lover. Sandro watched as Giuliano gave the beautiful Simonetta his cocky grin which she returned with her own ghost of a smile that hinted at more. The charcoal slipped from between Sandro’s fingers to snap on the floor.


End file.
